


Away With The Fairies

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Homophobic Comment, M/M, New Year's Eve, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: John and Sherlock face their first New Year's Eve.





	Away With The Fairies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RosieFreebatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieFreebatch/gifts).



> Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Aye should they, would they? John Watson finally gets a clue.

I am indescribably uncomfortable in this damn penguin suit. It's certainly not my usual jumper and jeans that would hardly be appropriate for this posh restaurant, whose name continues to escape me. Could be early onset Alzheimer's, but more likely the fact that I am the guest as it were, not the host.

Looking back, damned if I know why I'm actually here. Having eaten a dry, overdone plate of surf and turf with limp asparagus, I'm now staring at some "gourmet" dessert that, frankly, looks like something our back alley cat chucked up on the bins. The waiter, a nose in the air sort named Clive, Claude, Clyde- Jesus what's wrong with my memory tonight- brings two flutes of champagne, a dish of chocolate dipped strawberries and my requested cup of tea which he places in front of me with a distain that suggests I shouldn't be allowed out in a refined public venue.

Reaching for the milk to add to my tea, my thoughts carry me back two days ago when Sherlock had unexpectedly asked me to come home early from my clinic shift. Missing was his usual demanding texts, instead it was a "please if you can, I have something I want to show you". That alone was enough to nudge my curiosity to the forefront, so I suppose I wasn't paying the strictest of attention when Sarah asked me to go to dinner with her. I was hastily struggling into my heavy coat as she explained the wealthy dowager, who had a bad fall at our doorstep, had given Sarah a rather expensive set of dinner tickets to show her appreciation for the care she was given at the "commoners" facility.

I remember snorting at that as I tossed a casual "yeah why not" in her direction as I headed out the door. Her last words followed me, "Good, we're on for Sunday night then, 9 o'clock, and John, you'll need to wear a tuxedo." It wasn't until I was in the tube that my brain caught up to my feet and I found I'd made a date with Sarah for New Year's Eve. For a moment my stomach flipped, but it wasn't as if Sherlock and I had made plans. Hell, the git was probably going to celebrate by dissecting a cancerous pancreas or not even coming out of his room at all.

Sarah had put up with a good deal of nonsense from the both of us, and my sleuthing around, as she called it, with my flatmate hadn't made me the most reliable clinician in her employ. Several hours spent dining on someone else's shout wouldn't be a hardship, but Christ, a tuxedo? Bollocks!

Looking back now, I see that Sherlock received my news in his usual fashion, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. But he had gone to his laptop and closed it with a soft snick and turned away for the briefest of moments. When I asked him what he wanted to show me, he said it was too late. A time sensitive experiment that I had ruined by not running the streets instead of taking the holiday slowed tube system.

I'm beginning to think I've missed something of importance when Sarah's voice- hell, I'd forgotten she was even here- broke through my reverie. "John, I said, did you mean to do that?" Do what, I wonder, until I realize I have poured my milk not into my tea, but into my champagne. Well, at least I now have something that looks like it belongs with that horrid dessert.

I do have presence of mind enough to act suitably embarrassed. "No, no I did not. Sorry, guess I was away with the fairies."

At that, my dinner companion's sweet demeanor changes on the dot. "Yes, and you don't need to tell me which Fairy, the Fairy Queen himself, bloody Sherlock Holmes."

My head snaps up and I'm astonished to see a look of vitriol usually reserved for murderers and child molesters. It is not flattering to Sarah's normally cheerful face, and it unleashes something in me equally ugly.

"I'm going to assume you're taking the piss", I hiss, quite aware those around us are scandalized, "because if you're serious why would you invite me here tonight?"

"Because", she spits, "I thought after spending weeks and then Christmas with only that fag for company, you'd be clawing the walls to get a leg over. As it is, seems you have been getting what you need from him. I might as well not be here."

"Have to say, I wish you weren't, Miss Sawyer. Sherlock Holmes is my best friend, and one of the finest men I've ever known, and I won't allow you or anyone to spew ignorant homophobic rubbish at him. Add to that, what I get up to with my flatmate is none of your goddamn business! I've leaving now, and before you get your knickers in a twist, if you're wearing any seeing as how you were so eager for a pity fuck, don't bother looking for grounds to dismiss me from the clinic, I quit. Happy New Year!"

Not sure I mean to "accidentally" tip the table so both flutes of champagne spill into her lap, but I'll not apologize. My heart is hammering in my chest, my head is pounding and I may quite possibly be foaming at the mouth as I charge into the street and literally throw myself into the path of an oncoming cab.

As I slam the door after climbing in, the cabbie drones, "Only needed to raise yer 'and mate, I even stop for drunks tonight."

"Not drunk", I grumble, "just royally pissed."

"Good to know. Where to?"

"Home."

"Little more specific, if you please governor."

"What? Oh, sorry, sorry. 221 Baker Street." 

As I settle back it occurs to me that Baker Street IS home, and not just the building, the man who lives there with me. The exasperating, annoying, bratty, brilliant, wonderful man who makes me want to get up every day and look forward to living. What was I thinking leaving him alone tonight?! And more troubling, what was it he had wanted to tell me Friday night. I shouldn't have accepted that ridiculous experiment ploy, but as Sherlock so often points out, "I see but I do not observe."

***~~~***

The ride ends with my bolting out of the cab throwing the startled driver a tip large enough to buy his family a New Years dinner, and racing inside. My pace slows as the strains of Sherlock's violin echoes down the stairwell. I don't recognize the melody, but if you could see music floating in the air, this would be shades of deep blue, grey and black. The sadness penetrates the walls as surely as the bullets the madman had shot into our wallpaper that "boring" day.

Not wanting to catch him unawares, I make enough noise to let him know I'm coming through. He's facing the window, but strangely, seems not to have seen me arrive. He finishes the last notes of the piece and lowers the violin and bow down to his sides. The portrait is stunning. Sherlock is trembling so violently, that if I took the instrument and held it to the bow, the shaking would actually produce notes on the strings- notes, I fear, of anguish and pain.

"I'm home, Sherlock", I say hoping for a snarky reply. When none is forthcoming, I press on. "The whole thing was a disaster. Terrible food, snotty staff, and Sarah, well let's just say.... But hey, you can take one look at me and deduce the entire night. Make fun of me trussed up like a Christmas goose in this outfit. Go on then. Carry on. Be your usual amazingly brilliant self."

He's not moving an inch, and I'm becoming more than a bit worried, when I notice his laptop is open once again. It hadn't really occurred to me till now that, Friday, he had been using his own, too. He ALWAYS uses mine, just to wind me up I think, and this spurs me on to violate my own edict against snooping in each other's business.

Sherlock tenses, every muscle in his long body seemingly frozen, but he doesn't make a sound as I turn the screen to read.

Sherlock Holmes- New Year's Resolutions:

Make this a better home for John.  
Show John I appreciate him, i.e. Try to be less of an arse.  
Buy milk sometimes, or at least don't always use it all.  
Be less critical of John's jumpers, atrocious though they may be.  
Talk to John when he's actually here.  
Find the courage to tell John Hamish Watson that I am in love with him.

 

I read in silence until the last draws a gasp from me that, to my own ears, sounds as if all the air has been snatched from my lungs. This finally gets a reaction, one that breaks my heart. His voice is thick, and I can tell, without seeing, that Sherlock Holmes is quietly crying.

"There you have it John, the ramblings of a foolish sod. The man child only good enough to be called freak. I wouldn't have thought I could count you among my tormentors but here's your chance to get your own back. What better time to air your grievances than the last minutes of the old year, when everything can be set aside and forgotten like the detritus of all the unanswered prayers, hopes and dreams dashed by the year just past? For once, I will do you the courtesy of keeping my mouth firmly shut, do proceed."

For a second, I am teetering between anger that he is berating himself like this and wanting to literally eviscerate anyone who has ever hurt him until I realize I am among them. With that weighing heavily on my shoulders, I gently take the violin and bow from his hands and place them safely away. I'm breathing deeply to make sure my voice is steady and clear.

"Sherlock, I very much want for you to face me, but if you're not ready, I'll just start talking and you can listen. I'm sorry for so many things I can't count them all. These past three days have been a total cock-up. I know now it was really important to you that we talk Friday and instead I came home and basically brushed you off with my insensitive announcement that I was going on a date New Years Eve. I saw you were upset, and I ignored it, I ignored you."

My legs are beginning to wobble so I lean on the desk, "I will never ignore you again. I shouldn't have gone out tonight and left you here alone. If it's any consolation, I was fucking miserable, and I won't be seeing Sarah or working at that clinic ever again. When I got into the cab I told the driver I wanted to go home, and this is home, Sherlock, YOU are home for me. I'm sorry for being the idiot you know that I am, and I hope you can forgive me for not understanding, for not cherishing the precious gift I have in my life here with you."

Mercifully, Sherlock chooses to turn around. Our eyes meet and I am appalled to see the tears still trailing down those razor sharp cheekbones. "She hurt you tonight, no wait, not you personally, she hurt you through me. More precisely she cast aspersions on my sexuality. Don't bother to deny it John, clearly that topic is beyond doubt now that you have seen my innermost thoughts. I'm sorry you had to suffer that indignity on my account, it was unnecessary. I don't expect that you...I know you can't return my..."

Before I can formulate a coherent reply, the flat is filled with the jarring sounds of Mrs. Turner's married ones' telly being cranked up to ear shattering volume. We are both shaken by the percussion of fireworks and cheering crowds. Then comes the sonorous gong of Big Ben, over and over, the death knell for the tired old year and the birth announcement for the shining new.  
Somehow this releases my feet from their cement slab and I am throwing myself into Sherlock's arms, my hands in his hair and my lips on his. 

I'm grateful that he considers my lack of height a benefit, because I am pulling him down into the dirtiest kiss I have given anyone- EVER. My mind is racing, this should be tender and loving and oh shit who cares!! Because Sherlock is doing his best to match me tongue for tongue, thrust for thrust- when did we start rutting like dogs in heat- again, oh shit who cares.

Finally, the clock strikes twelve and I lower my hands to his face, "Happy New Year, Sherlock, and while I didn't make any resolutions, I AM going to start a tradition for us. That is to tell you that I am in love with you too, and I will tell you so every single day for the rest of our lives. No matter what we're doing or where we are, you will know that you are loved, today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, hell even next century."

The rumbling laughter that I have come to adore bubbles up from his chest, "Really John, next century? Don't you think that's being a bit optimistic?"

I cuff the back of his head lightly, "If anyone can inspire me to live that long it will be you, love."

"God help me John, I believe you."

***~~~***

If I'm dreaming, I don't want to wake up. I have just gotten naked with Sherlock Holmes and taken him to bed. We are enraptured with each other's bodies and I currently find myself balls deep in the World's Only Consulting Detective and loving every moment. He is enthusiastic and, bloody Christ, a talented sexual creature. I don't know if he's had experience or if he's just been researching for ages, either way, I can't be arsed to care. If he ever wants to tell me, fine, if not...well, I'm not exactly a novice then am I? For now, I just want to be here, this moment, this new year so filled with promise.

Sherlock is making sounds that make me want to stay inside him forever. Wonder if Mrs. Hudson would make daily deliveries to our bedroom. I'm close and so is he. I reach between us as his eyes look through me into my soul and begin to stroke him in time to my thrusts. With what I will allow him to call a manly scream, he orgasms like a wild beast and pulls me along behind him. We are euphoric, transcended and, in all honesty, knackered.

I find myself wanting an intimacy with this man the likes of which I have never shared with another lover. Kissing him deeply, I work my way slowly down his body my tongue licking broad swaths as I clean the semen from his chest, stomach and cock and now I am lapping at his sensitive balls with delicate touches and the softest of kisses. They're a beautiful pair of balls I muse, attached to a cock worthy of my magnificent genius. A cock to rival Michelangelo's David, and those balls, well, New York City can have their Waterford Crystal Ball drop in, I reckon, five hours or so. As for me, I'll take these two- less fragile and a hell of a lot warmer. I don't hear myself giggle.

"John, John...have I missed something humorous?"

I slither back up his body and give him another filthy kiss, "No love, I'm simply giddy with my love for the great William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"And I am equally mesmerized by John Hamish Watson, but I felt abandoned there for a time, you mean man. Where was your mind, where did you go?"

Feeling a touch of remorse for my lapse of attention but filled more with affection, I take his hands in mine and kiss them with all the love that's flowing from my heart. Giving him my best smile, the one I know he really likes, I wink and answer, "Just away with the fairies, my love, just away with the fairies."

**Author's Note:**

> May each of you have a Happy Happy New Year filled with health and good fortune.
> 
> A special wish to RosieFreebatch who asked for a New Year's story. Hope you like it and many blessings, dear for 2018.


End file.
